Page 7 of The Enchanted Frost (The Christmas Chronicles)

CHAPTER 7

Frost

M y immortality was not measured simply by the endless years that blended together like minutes across the expanse of forever, but by the souls I gathered. As the Winter King, I existed apart from the mortals whose lives were touched by the beauty of my magic. Other than the rare moments I observed them, my own world intersected with theirs only when duty called, necessitating that I collect the souls claimed by winter.

In the act of retrieving a soul, I would catch snippets of each person’s life—a fleeting glimpse into their existence that both intrigued me and gave me the occasional twinge of dissatisfaction, as though I was missing something.

While I possessed little interest in living a mortal existence, I was fascinated by their customs and especially by the bonds they formed with each other, such a contrast to the quiet solitude draping my vast, empty halls whose silence only amplified the sense of isolation that weighed more on my soul with each passing century .

I observed these snippets primarily out of respect for the dead—an unspoken gratitude that their souls would extend my own immortality—yet I sometimes found myself lingering over their memories, replaying their simple acts of love. In comparison to mine, their lives were mundane and made little impact on the world, their brief stays on the earth mere drops in the vast ocean of my eternity…and yet I enjoyed watching how they chose to use their few days, as I might enjoy reading a fictional tale.

I expected Blanche’s life would evoke similar detached interest, but for the first time I found myself captivated, unable to look away as her chronicle unfolded against the backdrop of the velvety night. It wasn’t her noble lineage or her wealthy upbringing that drew me in, and aside from that background her life was no more extraordinary than the others I’d collected over the eons. Yet something about her stirred my heart from its usual dormancy.

It wasn’t until her memories progressed through her entire childhood to reach a particular autumn night on the cusp of winter that I finally understood the inexplicable connection that bound me to this mortal woman like an invisible thread.

She was a girl of privilege, young enough to maintain the innocence that allowed her to find joy in something as seemingly insignificant as the frosted patterns I etched into her bedroom window each morning. While she wasn’t the first mortal to notice my efforts, her fascination extended beyond a fleeting appreciation to become enthralled with each new design, her wonder lighting up her face with every discovery.

But it was more than just her delight in my frosted windowpanes that bound us. There was something deeper, a mystery I had never been able to solve before age caused her to eventually lose interest in my creations, and I never saw her again…until now .

I felt my breath catch as the young Blanche appeared in the memory, her eyes bright with excitement upon waking to discover yet another frost pattern I had carefully crafted, a moment that in my span of eternity felt like only yesterday. I instinctively leaned closer, as if my proximity to the magical vision illuminating her recollections could transport back in time to those moments.

It couldn’t be .

Yet the evidence unfolded before me, mingling with my own memories until they aligned perfectly with hers—her gasp of delight at the flower patterns, the way the tip of her nose brushed against the cool glass as she leaned closer, and the reverent brush of her fingertips as she traced each frosty petal.

The image resurrected feelings I had long thought forgotten—my careful planning of each design, the anticipation of her reaction, the warmth that her childlike joy brought to my cold heart. Even as those feelings and memories faded with time, my subconscious had recognized her, even when my mind had not, finally solving at least one of my mysteries: the true reason I’d chosen to rescue a mere human and brought her to the realm where mortals did not belong.

The tender moment had swiftly been overshadowed by the chilling revelation that followed—the memory of the poor street urchins Blanche had heartlessly turned away. This event intertwined with one of my own, one that haunted me long after it occurred. Shortly after her display of cruelty I had been summoned to a dark alley, an unforgiving place shrouded in an eerie silence that seemed to press down on everything.

The wind howled through the narrow passage and the harsh glow of flickering streetlights barely cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows across the slick, icy ground. At first, the figures appeared as indistinct shapes, barely distinguishable from the grime around them. But as I drew closer, the terrible truth became clear.

The children lay motionless, their small bodies half-buried under a cruel blanket of snow and ice, huddled together in a final, desperate attempt for warmth before the cold had claimed them, tragically snuffing out their young lives. The frost had settled over them like a shroud, transforming them into pale, lifeless sculptures. Their clothes—thin and inadequate against the biting cold—were coated with frost, the once-bright colors dulled by winter's icy grip.

Their faces, visible in small gaps between the snow, were etched with a haunting stillness. The cold had claimed them completely, turning their skin a ghastly shade of blue and grey. The natural sounds of childish voices had been replaced with only the ghostly whine of the frigid wind that shifted the snow over the corpses, a grim reminder of winter’s unforgiving power.

The somber scene had been powerful enough to stir even my frozen heart. As the Winter King, I was supposed to be impartial to the tragedies that befell mortals, my emotions as cold and unyielding as the season I ruled. Yet that night, sadness that had no place in my role consumed me, threatening to disrupt my duties. The tragedy of those children—so close to the warmth of the village yet so tragically far from its comforts—left an indelible mark on my immortal soul, a harsh reminder of what the beauty I created was capable of.

Unexpectedly encountering the faces of the children whose death still haunted me woven through the chronicle of Blanche’s life shattered my usual mask of stoicism. My heart wrenched as the feelings I had fought to suppress surged to the surface. I never imagined that such a terrible memory would be so intricately linked with the first mortal I had ever truly connected with, the one that I was finding more intriguing by the moment.

I couldn’t reconcile the innocent young girl who delighted in my frost creations with the coldhearted woman whose willful negligence had contributed to those children’s deaths. I might not have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed the memory myself; but magic, no matter how much I wished otherwise, could not lie.

The horrific realization rendered me incapable of continuing to watch Blanche's life unfold. I cut the magic short and fled down the stairs, desperate to escape the overwhelming torrent of emotions swirling within me like a blizzard. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t outrun them. They followed me, storming through my mind, foreign and incomprehensible.

Even when I sought refuge in a secluded section of my castle and attempted to distract myself with my usual preparations for winter I found no solace. My thoughts, usually so focused and meticulous, were scattered. The intricate patterns I would have normally crafted with care seemed dull and lifeless, my hands moving through the motions without their usual precision or passion. I crumpled a misshapen snowflake in my fist—mashing it together with several other failures into a hard crystal sphere—and formed a fresh sheet of ice, attempting to carve it with trembling fingers.

As I tried to lose myself in the process, memories of Blanche’s life kept intruding, the image of her as a child blurring with the cold indifference of the woman she had become. The frost I created seemed less like art and more like a bitter reminder of the lives it had claimed. Every detail I tried to focus on brought me back to that alley, to the children I had found, and to the terrible connection between them and Blanche .

Time usually held little meaning for me, but as I heard the soft patter of Blanche’s increasingly familiar footsteps, I instinctively knew it had been nearly four hours since I’d last seen her. A mere blink of my existence, but with her numbered days it likely seemed much longer to her.

When she appeared, a wave of unexpected compassion washed over me. Despite the anger and confusion that had gripped me earlier, I now saw her as a victim of circumstances—much like the street urchins were victims of a different tragedy. Viewing Blanche’s life had helped me realize that she had never known true compassion, a product of her upbringing in her treatment of others. While she still held responsibility for her actions, my heart tugged in pity at the realization that she had been starved of love, just as cruelly as the children she’d ignored had been starved of food.

Blanche stepped into the room softly, pausing in the doorway, her widened eyes taking in the haphazard piles that had accumulated during my hours of distracted creation. She picked up one of the balls of ice, turning it over in her hands before her questioning gaze met mine. “A hailstone?”

I startled, only now realizing how drastically I’d veered off course from my initial intention to prepare for a gentle snowfall. “I originally meant to create snowflakes…but it appears my creativity has a mind of its own.”

The corner of her lips twitched, as if trying to remember how to smile after having forgotten how. “It appears the mystery of one natural phenomenon has been solved: every winter storm is at the mercy of your mood.” Her humor managed to cut through the tension that thickened the frosty air.

“I’m not in a bad mood.” But my hardened tone contradicted my insistence, as did the piles of ice, the result of my unfocused efforts—hailstones that would likely lead to unexpected and severe storms in several unfortunate villages.

She bit her lip. “Is it my fault?”

Her unexpected question caught me off guard, lifting me briefly from my cloud of gloom. “Why would my current preference for hail be your fault?”

She shifted uneasily, her gaze dropping to the floor as she answered. “Because of…what you witnessed from my life. You know now that you’re wasting your effort to help someone who doesn’t deserve it—there’s no value in extending your life by obtaining a tainted soul.” Remorse clouded her grey eyes, such a stark contrast to the superior disdain she’d exhibited towards the urchins in her memories.

“The state of the souls I claim has no bearing on the amount of life they give me; only the years they spent living add to my own.”

As I spoke I realized this wasn’t entirely true—there was something about her soul in particular that stirred mine in a way no other human’s had, an influence that extended beyond the frosted windowpanes I had once created for her.

That connection, though fragile in the face of her indifference towards the urchins, was still stronger than the disappointment I felt. Something deeper existed between us; I wanted to explore whatever it was, even as a part of me feared doing so.

Her brow furrowed. “Then why did you leave so suddenly? It was as if you could no longer bear to watch the life of someone so horrible.”

Deep down, I knew the real reason I had prematurely cut off the memories of her life wasn’t due to her icy behavior but rather my impending dread of witnessing the course that led to her inevitable end—a ridiculous reaction considering she was already trapped in death’s clutches, a fate no amount of magic could rescue her from .

My heart gave a strange twinge that I hastily tried to suppress. I have no reason to feel this way about a mere mortal .

The power I had always relied upon couldn’t provide an answer to this most perplexing riddle, nor could I find it in the decorative carvings and frosty murals adorning the icy walls—a chronicle of my existence that spanned back to the creation of time itself. For all my magical knowledge, nothing had prepared me for this complex, bewildering relationship with the mortal whose soul was proving so difficult to obtain.

She must have mistaken my extended silence for confirmation of her fears. Her composure faltered. “With what you witnessed in my treatment of the less fortunate, it’s no wonder fate caused my life to turn out the way it did.” She gave a self-deprecating, hollow laugh that belied the despair paining her expression.

I carefully considered my next words. “If fate were truly the determiner of one’s destiny, then the bad would always be punished and the good rewarded. But the human experience is far more complex than that.”

Confusion puckered her brow. “Then why else would I find myself in the very position I once belittled others for, if not as cosmic repayment for what I’ve done?”

Unfortunately I had no answer to give. While I’d been able to gather several clues from her recollections I’d seen so far, I’d ended the showcase before figuring out what regret held her back or the event that had caused her life to take such a drastic turn…though by the agony clouding her eyes, I could guess that her cruel actions weighed heavily upon her soul, preventing her from forgiving herself to move forward. Whether that regret was what held her soul captive or something else, with so little time left there was no sense in wasting our limited moments together bearing a grudge against her .

I rested a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She flinched at my icy touch before relaxing. Her warmth seeped over my frozen fingers, rippling up my arm to encircle my heart, stoking my sudden yearning to do anything to dispel the despair etched on her features.

“One mistake or moment of regret doesn’t lessen the value of a soul.”

I yearned to offer more than a few paltry words in comfort, but my monotonous, duty-filled existence had given me little reason to experience true regret. My soul had been stagnant for eternity—never changing, stretching, or growing—a stark contrast to the woman she’d become compared to who she’d once been. To think I would ever envy a mortal in anything should have been laughable, yet it didn’t change the fact that I would sacrifice years of my eternity for such an experience.

Beneath the layers of ice and frost that encased my heart, there was a warmth I had long forgotten, a part of me that cared not just about winter and magic but about the fragile life standing before me. For the first time in my timeless existence, I felt the rare pressure of urgency. With so little time left, I had to focus on making the last part of her life meaningful, no matter how short it was.

The weight of my decision settled over me. In doing so, I might lose a part of myself—perhaps even my powers—but the sacrifice felt insignificant compared to the chance to give her peace…and maybe even find a fragment of meaning for my own existence.

As if my powers sensed my unspoken wish, my magic suddenly stirred, summoning the mystical hourglass carved from ice that only I could see. It was always present, hovering on the edges of my awareness until I had a reason to pay attention to it. I’d sensed it niggling my thoughts throughout my interactions with Blanche, but I’d subconsciously chosen to ignore it for reasons my heart understood but my mind didn’t.

I cast the hourglass a tentative glance before allowing it to completely fill my awareness—its measurement allowed me know when to acquire the souls that fell under my jurisdiction, and at this moment it showcased the only mortal present. Even with her trapped in this state of in-between, the snow that represented the sand of a regular hourglass was precariously close to running out…meaning she had very little time remaining for me to figure out what was holding her back in order to help her move on.

Though I served as my own master with magic as my faithful servant always performing my bidding, death was a force my powers couldn’t challenge. Any attempt to manipulate the natural laws that governed Earth risked my place as the King of Winter and could bring all manner of chaos into the world. Yet though I knew I was playing a dangerous game, I had crossed the point of no return; it was too late to stop.

How could I possibly claim the soul of the little girl who had first brought me true joy in my existence?